


When Someone Has A Crush On You, They'll Make You A Mixtape

by leiascully



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Community: fluff_friday, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-28
Updated: 2008-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:12:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Technology is not my strong suit."</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Someone Has A Crush On You, They'll Make You A Mixtape

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: post-4.10 AU  
> A/N: Happy [**fluff_friday**](http://community.livejournal.com/fluff_friday/)! This one's for [**angiescully**](http://angiescully.livejournal.com/). There's nothing fluffier than AU futurefics, baby! Title from "Mix Tape" from _Avenue Q_.  
> Disclaimer: _Battlestar Galactica_ and all related characters belong to Ronald Moore, NBC Universal, Sci-Fi Channel, and Sky One. No infringement is intended and no profit is made from this.

"Mister Gaeta," said Bill Adama.

"Admiral!" said Gaeta, pushing himself up. "It's an honor, sir. What can I do for you?"

"I need your assistance," Bill said slowly. "It's not military. It's a personal matter."

"All right," Gaeta said apprehensively.

"I keep hearing about something called a mixtape. I wanted to make one for Laura for our anniversary, but," he paused. "Technology is not my strong suit."

Gaeta let out a surreptitious breath of relief. "I can definitely help you with that, sir. Do you have any recordings you want to put on it?"

"I have a few." Bill gestured. "I don't know how to put them on the thing. I don't know how to get them off the other things."

Gaeta stifled the urge to laugh. "Don't worry about it, sir. Just let me know which recordings you want."

"I left my recordings in Lee's office, if you want me to go get them." Bill jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "But I don't have that many."

"We salvaged an extensive collection of recordings from the computers on Galactica and Pegasus," Gaeta reassured him. "Plus the luxury liners. Most of Cloud Nine's library survived, in fact, although it is portioned among the other computers from the fleet. I should be able to access a lot of it, though."

"Do you know that old song, the one that goes dah dah dah deedledee doo?" Bill asked. He hummed a few bars off-key.

"I think I do, sir," Gaeta said. "Is that the old Aerelonese ballad about the rock and the stream?"

"Yes, and the apple tree."

"I'm sure we have that one, sir."

"You are aware that I retired, aren't you, Felix?"

"Yes, sir," Gaeta said, smiling. "But you're still the old man."

Bill nodded. "That's fair."

"Just bring those recordings by sometime," Gaeta said. "I'll call up the music archives and we can go through them. There's a lot of popular songs and some older things, and a quite good collection of classical pieces, actually."

"Good, good," said Bill. "When are you off duty? So to speak."

"I usually close up shop around 1900 hours, sir, barring unforeseen incident or press release," Gaeta said. "Would you like to come by then?"

"Thank you," said Bill.

He showed up at the door at 1900 sharp, holding a stack of recordings under his arm and carrying a bag with a couple of containers of takeout in the other.

"Lee said if I was going to take up your time during your weekend, at least I'd better feed you," Bill said. "I hope you like" - he looked in the bag - "sandwiches and soup."

"Sounds great," Gaeta said. "I've managed to pull together a catalog of the existing archives."

"Let's get to it," Bill said. "But first, sandwiches. Lee won't forgive me if I belabor his press secretary without giving him a chance to eat."

"We can do both at once," Gaeta said, grinning.

They spent a couple of hours in front of the computers, listening to clips of things, choosing and rearranging songs. Bill would occasionally burst into raucous song for a few lines, usually botching a few of the words, until Gaeta had given up trying to stifle his laughter and they were both clutching their ribs.

"You really have the most atrocious taste in music, sir," Gaeta said, wiping his eyes.

"Blame Laura," Bill said, leaning forward to look at the screen again. "For a woman of distinction, she's got no class at all. She married me, for one thing."

"There's no way for me to get out of this gracefully, is there?" Gaeta said, reaching for the crust of a sandwich.

"No one ever really retires, Mister Gaeta," Bill said, and flashed a toothy, dangerous grin. He clapped Gaeta on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it." He put his hands on his knees and pushed himself up out of the chair. "I think we're done for today."

"Shall I copy this off for you?"

"I think we'll wait a few more days," Bill said. "Wren used to be a singer, you know. She promised to record some things for me. Apparently she knows how to use all this technology. I only know how to tell people to blow things up."

"Very good sir," Gaeta said.

Bill paused. "Laura told me once that you have a very fine voice. Would you mind singing the song that you sang in the hospital? I would appreciate it very much."

Gaeta sat back, startled, and blinked. "I'd be honored, sir."

Bill nodded. "Thank you, Felix. I look forward to seeing you at the party. Let me know when you have a little time to work on this again."

"Wilco, sir," Gaeta said, and resisted the urge to salute.


End file.
